Till Death
by XxEJMxX
Summary: He was burning to the touch, yet the bitter cold had settled into his stomach. Snape was the Half Blood Prince... Implied slash. Almost HBP compliant.


A/N: wooooah, wayyyy out there my writing fiends. This one was inspired by the end of the 6th movie. I am not quite sure where exactly most of this comes from, but I am quite…loathsome of the ending :P I hope you enjoy anyway…

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Sweat dripped down his back. His thoughts seemed to bounce off the ceiling of the room, casting shadows where they fell. He would like to think they were too dark to be thoughts… that maybe the lack of sleep had caught up to him. Seeing shadows as thoughts…what would Albus say…

He longed to rip off his night shirt and throw it across the room.

He longed for sleep so much his brain hurt.

He longed to rewind the past 24 hours.

The dorm room was stifling.

He didn't think it was because it was too warm. He thought it was because of his fever. He had adopted one ever since he found out Snape was the Half Blood Prince.

Even though his insides were sloshy and cold, much like ice dumped into a rainstorm. His skin was burning, blazing to the touch.

_Snape is the Half Blood Prince. Snape is the Half Blood Prince. Snape is the Half Blood Prince._

It seemed to ring like a mantra in his head.

Every time he closed his eyes, he either saw Sever…Snape giving him an empty, vindictive glare or Dumbledore falling repeatedly off the edge of the tower.

He wasn't completely sure he had processed Albus Dumbledore being gone yet, well completely gone, anyways.

But his mind was racing to figure out the enigma of the potions book.

Why did it affect him much more than his grandfather figure dying?

He had been in an… _affectionate state_, for love is much too strong a word, with that book. With it's owner. With it's ideals.

He had figured out sometime before tonight that Sev…Snape was the Half Blood Prince. He could tell from the similarities in hand writing. He could tell from the way Snape drunk scotch instead of whiskey. He could tell from the scent of sandalwood and gunpowder and tobacco which clung to Seve…Snape constantly.

He wasn't sure when Snape morphed to Severus in his mind's eye. He wasn't sure when his nose wasn't vulture-like, and instead just crooked. He wasn't sure when the black, hard, beetle eyes turned into deep obsidian pools. He wasn't sure when Severus had started washing his hair. He wasn't sure when Severus' eyes seemed to linger too often. He wasn't sure when Severus began to ask him to stay after class.

Hell, he wasn't even sure when the passion had began and the "affection" officially started.

But he was sure that Severus knew.

Severus always knew.

He resisted the urge to drag his arm across his forehead to gather the slickness gathered there.

Severus needed him to know that he knew, if that even makes any sense.

The fever was taking up his being.

He wasn't sure what spell it had been that Severu…_Snape, Snape, Snape!,_ his still "Potter through and through" mindset shouted… Back on topic, he wasn't sure what curse had been whispered in an almost loving manner, gracing him with a farewell kiss to the forehead.

But he had an idea…

He always had ideas.

But Severus always knew.

Therefore, he dragged himself off of bed, and looked down at his body.

It was slick with sweat, yet his inner temperature ratcheted downwards a couple of notches. He wanted to be sick.

He couldn't wrap his mind around it. It had been so easy to touch and lick and explore without this type of contemplation, but now it was as if his mind was looped in a thousand sailor's knots.

He gripped at his head, and then submitted to what the spell wished him to do.

He shuffled down into dungeons.

He stumbled into the potions lab.

He searched the wall with his fingers.

He touched a certain cobblestone in the wall, and he prayed Severus was waiting for him.

Suddenly, his world was off balance. His feet wouldn't support his knees which buckled under the weight of his torso.

He was caught as he slid to the floor, the coldness in the pit of his abdomen seeming to eat away at his insides was soothed at the long, spidery fingers.

"Intense "Will me" spells are hitting below the belt, old man" He said it in such a voice. Severus had heard that voice before. Wintry. Despondent. Weak.

"Glad to see you caught the message Harry" with a single touch to his lips, his mind was free.

He wasn't sure when exactly he loved Severus.

But he always had ideas about how long he would love him.

While Severus knew it would be till death.


End file.
